Friday Film News

Mr Bradshaw: "You could try emptying Lake Victoria with a teaspoon, or making a scale model of Ely Cathedral with marbles, or getting into your house with front-door key made of marzipan. Any of these activities would be less of a waste of time than watching this supremely annoying and nonsensical film from Spike Lee"

Ouch. Is it really that bad?

Mr Quinn: "For an hour or so, Inside Man looks like a heist thriller of uncommon suspense and ingenuity".

We sense a but...

"But then a pesky subplot springs out of that safe-deposit box, driving a whole train of past misdeeds through the present tension. Instead of the elegant endgame of a heist thriller, such as The Taking of Pelham 123, we get a convoluted tale of retribution and redress. It's less Inside Man than Marathon Man, and the disappointment follows you all the way out the cinema."

Say it ain't so. Does The Times find anything of value here?

Mr Christopher: "Every inch of his film defies credibility, but Lee is gifted with a camera. His use of filters and film stock is terrific, as are the swooping overhead shots he uses to frame his set- pieces."

Jesus, Bradshaw! You've already had your say and we love 25th Hour so simmer down or we'll tell everyone that you enjoyedThe Pink Panther remake you fracking weirdo.

At this point Londonist was forced to strip the reviewers down to their underwear and strap them into metal chairs where their reviews could be more easily menaced out of them with the use of power tools

OK guys, so the first two who can tell me if Hostel is worth seeing are free to go.

Hmmm, you could just be saying that so that we let you go... but refusing to give the film any stars at all is a nice touch.

"My theory is that the makers of this film saw EuroTrip and thought: hmmmmmm, why don't we remake this as humourless soft-porn horror? And while we're about it, why don't we steal the opening idea from The Beach? The result is a film called Hostel, a title I can't read without remembering William Boyd's remark in Stars and Bars about it being the way Americans pronounce the word "hostile". It has been heavily touted as the last - or at any rate the latest word - in ordeal horror, executive produced by no less a person than Quentin Tarantino, but it's actually silly, crass and queasy. And not in a good way".

That's more like it Bradders. Sorry Quinn.... no it's too late now. Shhhhhh it'll only hurt for a minute.

Just to show there's no hard feelings why not tell us as much as you can about Romance & Cigarettes.

Mr Bradshaw:"It's a vanity project for Turturro, but with interesting moments"

And? What... that's it? Goddamnit Bradshaw, get back down in the cellar and send Quinn up here. Ok Anthony, deep breaths. You tell the folks out there about the film while we get the first aid kit.

Occasionally it's glorious, as when the inimitably nutty Christopher Walken hoofs along to Elvis, but for the most part it's hysterically pumped-up and false, nowhere more so than in Winslet's performance. Make her blowsy and lewd, fine; call her "Tula", if you must; but why have her talk in a straight-outta-Rada Yorkshire accent? (And what would such a woman be doing in New Jersey anyway?). Not as pompous as Moulin Rouge, but hopelessly misconceived all the same.

At this point James Christopher attempts to sing his review and collapses, coughing onto the floor. Londonist is forced to call one of his colleagues to come pick him up

Hey Wendy, watch his head on the doorframe. You haven't by any chance seen Romance & Cigarettes?

Winslet gets off lightly, however, compared with Walken, who plays Sarandon’s wacky Cousin Bo as a kind of withered Fonz, and delivers his lines as if they’re being shocked out of him with a cattle-prod. Perhaps this film, with its rough and ready dance routines (dustmen at dawn perform Engelbert Humperdinck’s Man Without Love) and its barely competent singalongs, is not meant to be populated with credible characters. But that effectively scuppers the final act of the film, in which the fury of spurned spouses gives way to a darker theme — terminal lung disease.

Cheers. Well there have to be better films on the way, right? Right?

Well, no. But there are stupider films on the way. Films so stupid that they could indeed be great. Like Snakes on a Plane - the Sam Jackson starring piece of silliness has had such an effect on interdweebs (ourselves included) that extra stuff is being filmed to get the movie an R rating. Now Jackson gets to scream "I want these motherf**king snakes off the motherf**king plane!" The more we read about this and the more we watch the trailer the more we think this could all be a motherfucking hoax. Than again it still looks better than the last Peter Jackson movie.

Speaking of which... Universal have announced that we'll soon be able to download and keep their films... no, we know you already do that, but this way it's LEGAL. Although £19.99 still seems a bit steep for a piece of shit like King Kong.

The much more believable romance of Brokeback Mountain is back in the news as Randy Quaid has decided to sue everyone he comes across in order to up his pay to $10 million. Elsewhere fans of the movie are campaigning to change the name of their local mountain to Brokeback... weird.

With Rob soon off on his honeymoon flight, the trailer of the week had to be United 93. It was either that or The Break Up and we know that the last thing he wants on his mind right now is Jennifer Aniston’s freshly waxed vagina.